The Difference
by ilkkuva
Summary: //UK&US// Arthur always wanted him on those nights. Alfred always needed him.


**Merry Christmas, Lazzy~ :3 This is for youuuuuu~ x3 (porn filled angst , for Christmas? Oh my! :O ) Je t'aime, mon amie~ x3 it's been a year since we've known each other! :"3 can you believe it? **

**I've become…obsessed with this idea as of late. =u=;; I apologize for any mistakes or general crappiness—I wrote and finished this today and decided to post it without any further adieu. I'll go back and edit and polish it later. =o=;**

**Disclaimer: I don't own APH. Yet. ;O**

**Music I listened to when writing…: Closer by Nine Inch Nails, Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy, Come On Closer by Jem, Lovers Dancing by InnerPartySystem, Die Tonight, Live Forever by InnerPartySystem, tons of InnerPartySystem _in general. _Oh, and I got the idea from several fan fictions I read by **_**Liete—**_**so all due credit to you, dear. **

* * *

_Alfred let it happen._

He always seemed to _enjoy _fooling himself, and throwing his hopes up in the air—_sometimes,_ his _risky, spur-of-the-moment_ decisions led to simply _wonderful_ things that made his bright world just a _bit better_—_but_ in this case…His high hopes were only getting _beaten back down_, _trampled into the ground_ as the sun rose, and the _door slammed_ to awaken him to an empty bed that seemed emptier _than the night before._

The first time it had happened, he had been so…_happy. _It was as though all his dreams _were coming true. _That the love _he'd been longing_ for was _finally_ being given to him. That someone actually c_ared _about him—not just so he could go save them from their enemies, or so they could relax in luxuries while he strained his own comfort—but _honestly,_ _with all their heart_, _loved him_. He told himself to ignore the _stench of alcohol_ in Arthur's breath. Ignore the _slurred promises_ and words that were whispered huskily into his ear as he was _pushed _back into the sheets. Ignore the _pure_ _lust _that _radiated _off of his once caretaker. _Ignore the cold bed the next morning._

It was hard for him to simply enjoy the nights that he came to him these days,_ however._

The words were becoming_ repeated, _the actions too_ forceful_—too _wanting_—too _rough…_

There was no _care,_ _love,_ _gentleness,_ _adortion, _or romantic _promises_ of a _future, _a _tomorrow _given to him those _heated, sinful nights_. Only _want _and _lust _and _greed._ _Pure_ _drunken desires._

The hands that _pushed at him_, _touched him_, _pleasured him_—were as _cold_ as the _icy stare_ he would receive in the morning, if he ever awoke before the British nation left. They burned him. The trails those eyes dug into his skin seemed to brand him for life—and he was always afraid that they would show in public. That everyone would see how _desperate _he was for this—he didn't want their _pity._ He didn't want their _mocking laughter._ He didn't want _anything_ from _anyone_ anymore.

He didn't know _what_ he _wanted_ or what he _needed._

As Arthur would clumsily stumble into his house, and instantly _cover him_ with _hot, sensual kisses_, and those _same words_ that broke down every barrier he'd ever built—he told himself that it was _real _this time—that _maybe, just maybe _he really _did _care for him and really _did _need him as much as _he needed_ him—

"_I want you so fucking bad."_

That feeling of being _wanted—_it somehow made up for every lie he knew was being uttered—every action that was being _forced on him,_ for Arthur's own pleasure—_he was so foolish to believe those promises were true._

As light rays of sunlight crept through his curtains, and played softly across his tired body, warming his _now cold,_ _abused_ skin—and _illuminated _those once _burning_ emerald eyes that had pinned him down with just _one look—_now so _cold—_he felt like he'd been _filled with stone. _

The heated night seemed to _cease to exist_ as Arthur _turned his back_ with one last cold glare that simply _screamed '_you dirty little _whore'—_and the dawn that painted _soft _and _soothing scenes_ on the _dark canvas _of a _sky_ that had _sheltered _and _hid _his _sins_ he'd committed—the sins he'd _let himself _commit—

_Everything seemed to be _lying _to him._

_How could he _allow himself to _lie there_, like a used and worn _toy?_ _How could he_ still find himself gazing fondly across the room at the curt nation who had once been like a father to him? _How could he_ still give in breathlessly and so _easily _every time those _burning _eyes locked with his _desperate_ ones, despite the pure _agony _he knew he would _drown _in the following morning? _How could he still love the goddamned bastard even though every word he spoke was a fucking lie?_

Alfred _knew_ it was simply _foolish _to ever think that instead of a cold, lead-filled, abused little _child _he would find himself to be in the morning, he'd wake up to those _warm _and _protecting _arms wrapped around him once more—filling him with a light warmth that would be _so different _than the_ heat_ he found himself caught in _every night_—

He was _so foolish._

Just _once,_ he just needed to hear it from Arthur's lips _one time_, and he would be happy for however long a life he would live.

_All he wanted was to be _needed. _Is that such a scandalous and horrible dream?_

He didn't want _this._ He didn't want Arthur's hands _touching _him like that—didn't want himself to _respond _to it—

"_Oh, come _on, _you fucking _whore. _You want me as much as I want you."_

'_No. That's a lie.' _He always wanted to whisper when Arthur smirked down at him like that. _'I _need_ you.' _

_The words escaped him, but remained a haunting thought in the back of his mind, never to be released._

Arthur always _wanted _him on those nights. Alfred always _needed _him.

There was a difference between the two _seemingly similar_ words. A difference_ so vast_ that Alfred couldn't just _ignore it_, _no matter_ how much he tried, it all boiled down to _one thing—_

Arthur simply _desired _to feel Alfred's naked body against his—simply _preferred _to fuck him so hard he felt himself _break in two_—simply _wanted _to take his own sexual desires out on the _hopeless _boy. He only _wanted _him.

Alfred _required _Arthur to love him—it was _necessary _for him to keep _breathing—_he _needed_ to believe that even for _only a moment_, Arthur felt the same way _he _did—that he _might_ _just possibly love him_ if he _gave him_ what he _wanted_—

_He knew it was too much to hope for._

_And that the higher you are, the harder you fall._


End file.
